Gingerbread and Biscuits
by and her magical cat Roscoe
Summary: Episode 4, The Finale of The Christmas Scenarios. After years of sleigh duty, Ralph learns the Santa Factor is needed closer to home. It's a long overdue delivery from the North Pole. Happy Holidays, everyone! Wishing you joy and biscuits in the new year.


**Gingerbread and Biscuits**

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life. _

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Author's Note: I've been reliably informed that this story won't make much sense if you haven't read Episodes 1-3 of The Christmas Scenarios. That's it. Carry on!

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Pam sighed and shook her head, tossing her long, dark hair back over her shoulder.

She gazed down at the cookie sheet full of gingerbread amoebas in her oven-mitted hands. There was only one way to find out if they tasted better than they looked, she decided.

"Ralph?" she called as she crossed the few steps from the kitchen to the dining room of the small suburban Los Angeles bungalow they shared.

"Can you try these for me, honey?" she said as she stepped into the living room. "I'm not sure what hap-"

A sudden movement by the tree interrupted her thought. She looked up to find her husband leaning in a suspiciously casual manner against the writing desk.

"What were you just doing?" she said, narrowing her eyes.

She looked over at the modest Christmas tree beside him and down at the small mound of presents stacked under it. Everything looked in place, but…

Ralph gave her an elaborate eye roll.

"I was only testing the lights," he said. "Honestly, Pamela, you'd think you didn't trust me."

"Yes, I can't imagine why that is," she said. "Just because you've been turning the house upside down for the past two months looking for your presents."

He snorted.

"You've been spending too much time with Bill," he said. "You're getting paranoid. I'm a grown up, honey, I can certainly wait two days to open my gifts."

He pushed away from the desk, moving to look down at her cookie sheet.

"These look g-" he started, then hesitated. "Uh, what are these?"

She looked down at the blobby shapes.

"Well, they're supposed to be gingerbread men," she said. "But I think they've devolved."

He leaned forward and sniffed, then looked up at her, one eyebrow raised.

She sighed.

"I know," she said. "I can't understand it. I'm positive I picked up the vanilla extract."

"Almost positive," she amended as he lifted a hand toward the tray. "It was right next to the garlic oil, but I distinctly rememb- Ralph!"

She shifted the tray and grabbed his wrist with one oven-mitted hand.

"I knew it!" she said, pushing back the sleeve of his flannel shirt to reveal shiny red fabric. "You've got the suit on! I knew you were-"

She hesitated and glanced over at the pile of gifts.

"What were you doing?" she said.

Ralph gave her a sheepish grin and gently pulled his arm out of her grip.

"All right," he said. He stepped back toward the tree and squatted down beside it.

He picked a package the size of a shoebox off the pile and carried it back to her.

"I thought it was a good way to test the x-ray vision thing," he said.

He held the silver-wrapped present in both hands and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I was thinking it might be easier with something small," he said. "You know, smaller than a bank vault."

Pam grinned in spite of herself at the sight of his boyish face creased with concentration as he pressed the package to his forehead.

"That was pretty ingenious," she said.

"I thought so," he agreed. "But it didn't work."

"Maybe it's just too dark inside to see anything," she said.

He opened one eye and stared at her.

"I didn't think of that," he said.

She shrugged.

"I'm a lawyer," she said. "We get paid to think of all the angles. No luck?"

He shook his head and squeezed his eyes again.

"Not unless it's the empty box I've always wanted," he said. "There must be some trick to it, like with the invisibility. I probably have to stand on one foot and whistle the Star Spangled Banner backwards or something."

He opened his eyes and lowered his hands, letting the package fall against his chest. He glanced back down at the tray in her hands.

"You know, I'm pretty sure gingerbread shouldn't be gray," he said. "Maybe you should-"

He hesitated and leaned forward, staring intently at the tray.

"What?" she said, following his gaze. "Oh, those are currants. I know what they look like, but-"

"No, hold on," he interrupted. "I'm getting something."

"X-ray vision?" she said.

He shook his head.

"No, just a regular vibe," he said. "Who is this present from? Oh, wait. It's from Bill, isn't it?"

She peered at the package.

"Judging by the six feet of tape on that ten inch box," she said. "I'd say, yes. Is he okay?"

Ralph's blue eyes narrowed in a tight squint.

"I guess so," he said. "He's just sitting in his apartment."

Ralph tilted his head to the side and leaned closer to the tray.

"He's looking at something," he said slowly. "I can't quite- it looks like a… huh."

"What is it?" Pam said.

Ralph bit his lip for a moment, then said, "Remember that little snow globe you gave him last year?"

She nodded.

"The Grinch stuck in the chimney," she said. "It was a joke. He's always so weird about Christmas. I didn't expect to have to explain it to him, but then he made that 'Greench' comment to Melanie the next day."

"Yeah, at the time I didn't think he had a clue what you were talking about," Ralph said. "Dr. Seuss was a little after his time and he's not the most whimsical guy in the world. But…"

He titled his head again.

"He's just sitting there, turning it over and over," he said.

"Oh, no," she said. "Ralph, You don't think I hurt his feelings do you? I mean I know he's not nearly as hard-boiled as he makes himself out to be, but if I thought…"

Ralph shook his head.

"It's just so hard to tell with him sometimes," he said.

He reached out to steady the cookie sheet in her hand. "You know how he talk- Oh, holy mother of cheese and rice!"

She stood blinking at him as he jumped away and started dancing around the coffee table shaking both hands violently in the air.

"What-" Her eyes widened. "Oh, honey, you saw me wearing oven mitts!"

He glowered at her, wrapping his arms around his chest and stuffing his hands under armpits.

"Well, didn't the suit help?" she said.

"I imagine that's the only reason I'm not doing a Johnny Tremaine impression right now," he said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, it's not that bad," she said, hooking a mitt under his elbow. "Honestly, for a superhero you're just a big baby sometimes."

"It's that kind of love and understanding that makes you such a good lawyer, isnt' it?" he growled as she pulled him toward the kitchen.

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A few minutes later, Ralph was leaning against the kitchen counter staring at his glistening palms.

"Does butter really help?" he said.

"Mostly I think the sensation of having a quarter of a cup of grease on your hands takes your mind off the sting," she said.

"It's definitely different," he agreed.

"So what are we going to do about Bill?" she said, bending to scrape her gingerbread experiment into the garbage pail under the sink.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "I mean, I know he's always been funny about this time of year. He never decorates. Not even a wreath. And has he told you some of those stories about his childhood Christmases?"

She nodded as she looked up at him.

"You mean like the time his mother gave him a puppy, then she told him she just 'borrowed' it from the pet store and they had to take it back the next day?"

He grimaced.

"Yeah," he said. "Or the time he wanted a toy train-"

"And Santa brought him six sardine tins on a string," she finished, straightening and pushing the cabinet door shut.

They stared at each other for a long minute.

"Bill needs a little Christmas," she said at last.

Ralph nodded.

"Maybe more than a little," he said. "Start thinking of what we'll need."

She frowned.

"I wonder if they make red and green dog biscuits," she said.

He shot her a look.

"Think harder," he said.

He leaned away from the counter and started toward the door.

"Remember, we've only got two days," he said over his shoulder. "I'm going to start at the mall."

"Ralph," she called after him.

He turned in the doorway.

"Wash your hands first."

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"He doesn't suspect anything?" Pam said softly.

Ralph shook his head.

"I don't think so," he said. "But I could tell he was wondering why we didn't give him our present on Christmas Eve like usual. When we were leaving the last house, he said, 'Well, I guess that's everything' in a really meaningful way."

She changed her grip on the red wagon and stepped up and back, climbing another stair.

"I noticed he kind of hung around the door this morning when you two got home," she said. "Did he tell you any more stories while you were on sleigh duty last night?"

He shook his head and hoisted the end of the wagon over the banister on the landing.

"No but yesterday morning on the way to the children's shelter he was complaining about the Santa costume again," he said. "And he told me about the year his class put on a Christmas play and he was afraid to ask his mother for help with the 'Wise Man' costume."

"Oh no," she said.

"Yeah, he showed up with a cigarette holder and an ascot. A whole miniature FDR costume."

He shook his head.

"What I wouldn't pay for pictures of that," he said.

"Ralph, that's terrible."

Yes, I know," he agreed solemnly.

"But it could have been worse," he said. "Forty years later and there might have been a miniature Nixon in Bethlehem."

She choked back a giggle.

"Watch it," he said. "We're at the top of the stairs."

She stepped back and lowered the wagon to the foot worn carpeting of the landing.

"What if he's not home?" she said as they wheeled the wagon down the hall.

"He's here," Ralph said. "We were going to go pick his car up from the desert."

"Oh, right," she said. "You'd think the green guys would provide a drop-off service.

"Don't get him started on that," he said. "I have to listen to it every Christmas."

They rolled the wagon to a stop outside the battered door of Bill's apartment.

"Ok, ready?" Ralph whispered.

"Just a minute," Pam said under her breath. She bent and fished among the packages. A moment later she pulled out two floppy red hats with white fake fur trim.

Ralph took his and flashed her a lopsided grin.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I know," she said softly.

He pulled the hat down over his blond curls and turned to the door. He gave three sharp raps.

"Bill, you ready to go?" he called through the door.

"Just a sec," came the muffled reply. "Coffee pot's smoking again."

There was a series of loud bangs and a muffled curse then the sound of footsteps stomping toward the door.

"Nothing like java that tastes like burnt tin in the morn-" Bill was muttering as he tugged open the door.

He froze at the sight of their beaming faces and looked from one to the other, then down at the laden wagon and back up again.

"What's this?" he said. "We goin' back to the shelter?"

"Not right away," Ralph said.

"Bill Maxwell," Pam said, handing him a candy cane. "This is a late delivery from the North Pole."

"Ho, ho, ho," agreed Ralph.

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An hour later Ralph and Pam sat on ladder back chairs in Bill's one room apartment. Bill sat on the edge of his bed, crumpled strips of wrapping paper littering the floor around his feet.

As Ralph bent to pull another package out of the wagon, Pam leaned forward and tipped the bottle of scotch into the glass in Bill's hand.

"Are we gettin' to the end here?" Bill said to the white bobble on Ralph's cap. "'Cause I'm runnin' out'a bed."

He looked over his shoulder at the gifts strewn across the faded blanket.

A fire truck was half-covered under a felt cowboy hat. The six-guns and plastic badge that went with the cowboy kit were sticking out of an open barrel of Lincoln Logs that was turned over next to a hobby horse and an assortment of board games from Parcheesi to Monopoly. A procession of toy cars from matchbox to shoe box size snaked through the collection.

"These are the last two," Ralph answered.

There was a shrill "toot-toot!" and the electric train emerged from under the bed, circled the red wagon and disappeared under the bed again.

Ralph sat up with a long, narrow box and a smaller square box perched on his lap. He handed Pam the smaller box.

"Open this first," he said, passing Bill the longer package.

Bill placed his glass on the floor and took the package on his lap.

"Sony," he read as he stripped away the red paper. He looked at Ralph. "Ya know, we make stuff in the US, too."

"I've heard that," Ralph said pleasantly. "Maybe in a few years it'll be worth buying."

Bill studied the box.

"Cassette player," he read. "Not to blow the surprise an all, but that would be…"

He cocked his head toward the box in Pam's lap.

"There are those deductive reasoning skills again," Ralph said as he took the box from Pam and handed it across. "It's just awe inspiring the way you work these things out."

"Ninety-nine percent kill rate," Bill said, peeling off the gold ribbon and starting on the green foil paper. "Can't beat that with a stick."

"It's gone up a point," Ralph said as Bill pried open the white cardboard box. "Was it the car-theft ring from October?"

"Yep," Bill said, tipping the contents of the box out on the bed. "Seventeen punks in one haul tends to bump up the averages. I still owe you a steak for that. What do we got here."

He sorted through the tapes scattered on the blanket.

"Billy Joel, Elton John, John Denver," he said. "These guys sound familiar."

"I think you'll like them," Ralph said. "And if you don't, I'll give them to Kevin. I think he needs a break from Wham!."

"Wham?" Bill said, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm not even gonna ask."

"Try John Denver first," Pam said, leaning forward to tap the cassette in Bill's hand. "Back Home Again is a classic."

Bill studied the plastic case.

"Anything by Sinatra is a classic," he said. "This guy looks like a hippie."

"Just try it," she said taking the cassette from his hand and tossing it on the bed.

She reached down and picked up a red plastic plate lined with a paper doily.

"Another Christmas Biscuit?" she said.

"Thanks, doll," he said, picking up one of the green bone-shaped biscuits. "Who'd'a thought they'd be minty?"

"It definitely wouldn't have crossed my mind," she agreed.

He crunched his biscuit thoughtfully and surveyed the gifts again.

"Well, kids," he said at last. "This was…"

He coughed and cleared his throat loudly.

"This was really somethin', but," he paused, then said, "But you know I got no room for this stuff."

He cocked his head toward the kitchenette.

"I'm already usin' the stove for a file cabinet."

Ralph and Pam exchanged glances.

"We kind of thought you'd say that," Ralph said. "That's okay. We can load it all back in the wagon and take to the shelter later."

Bill inhaled sharply.

"Well, you don't gotta do it today," he said quickly. "We still gotta go get the car and then, ya know, you prob'ly wanta have dinner or somethin'."

Pam took a sip of her drink to cover her grin.

Ralph managed to keep a straight face as he said, "That's true. We can definitely leave it for tomorrow. Or even next week."

"Okay," he said, standing, "Your car's not going to drive itself back. Is the station wagon downstairs?"

"Uh, yeah," Bill said. He took another long sip of scotch and pushed up off the bed. "Uh, why don't you kids run on down and I'll be right behind ya."

Ralph shot a look at Pam as she stood and moved toward the kitchen.

"You bet," Ralph said.

Pam put her glass down in the sink and moved back to door.

"I think I'm going to head back to the house," she said. "I'll see what we've got for dinner."

"Or," Ralph said quickly, "We could order in."

"Yeah," Bill said instantly. "Somethin' from Dragon and Pearl would sure hit the spot."

Pam's lips tightened.

"Fine," she said. "I won't cook. But you're having some gingerbread."

Ralph winced.

"I figured out what I did wrong last time," she said as Ralph pulled open the door. "I'm almost positive they'll be delicious."

"And at least seventy percent less garlicky?" he said as they moved out into the hall.

"You'll have to let us know," Pam said. "You're the guinea pig."

"As usual," he answered.

He turned back in the doorway. "I'll meet you downstairs, Bill. Oh, and bring the fire truck if you want something to play with in the car."

He closed the door before Bill finished rolling his eyes.

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Bill was at the station wagon a few minutes later. Ralph noticed the wet spots on his denim shirt from a hurried freshening up in the sink.

The trip to the desert beyond Palmdale was quiet. Ralph talked about Kevin's call from Dallas that morning. Bill relived the look on Carlisle's face when his least favorite agent came in after delivering twelve inter-state car thieves off for processing and another five at the hospital.

After dropping Bill at his car, Ralph drove back at higher than normal speed and succeeded in beating him to the house.

Pam was washing up at the kitchen sink when he walked in. He sniffed and then inhaled deeply.

"Hey," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face. "That smells pretty good. It actually smells like gingerbread!"

"Apparently," Pam said as she turned from the sink, "They were quite tasty. We'll never know."

She held out an empty plate. He looked at her blankly then his eyes widened.

"Oh, no," he said.

"Oh, yes," she said, her gray eyes flashing, "Ralph, that-"

A car door slammed in the driveway and Ralph grimaced.

"Okay," he said quickly, "We'll manage. I'm sure it's just a phase."

"It had better be," she said dangerously.

He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand.

"Go on," she said. "I'll be right there."

He gave her a grateful smile and hurried to the door.

Bill was coming in with a red and green box of biscuits under his arm.

"Stopped at the store for some more of these," he said, prying open the cardboard flap as he walked into the living room. "Mint. Who would'a thought?"

"Oh, that's good," Ralph said. "Because-"

Bill flinched.

"Did she bake?" he muttered under his breath. "How bad is it?"

"No, no, it's not that," Ralph said quickly. "It's just that we've got one more present for you."

Bill glanced at the neatly folded wrapping paper under the tree.

"What now, Tinker Toys?" he said. "I feel like Little Orphan Annie here."

"Well, maybe you'll want to call him Sandy, then," Pam said as she walked in from the dining room. "But I kind of think he looks like a Rufus."

Bill stared. In her arms was ten pounds of wriggling reddish-gold fur. The puppy looked up at Bill with huge golden-brown eyes and yipped. One end of the red ribbon tied loosely around his neck flopped over onto his forehead and he squirmed sideways, trying to bite it.

Bill just stared.

"I know you don't have room for a dog at your place," Ralph said. "He can stay here. You spend as much time here as you do at your apartment, just about."

Bill still stared.

"Maybe the puppy was too much," Pam said as she and Ralph exchanged glances. "We just thought-"

"Damn," Bill said.

He caught his upper lip between his teeth and inhaled sharply, then blew out his breath in a low whistle.

"Damn, damn, damn," he said at last, blinking rapidly. "Now you did it."

He sat down on the arm of the sofa and scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. After a long moment, he cleared his throat.

"Uh, Rufus, huh?" he said, his voice tight. "That's a- that's a good name."

Pam gave a little gasp and bit her lip.

Ralph stepped forward and carefully took the puppy from her hands. He turned and held it out to Bill.

Bill dropped his hand from his face and met Ralph's eyes for just a moment. It was just a moment, but it was long enough. He shifted to set the box of biscuits down on the floor and held out his hands.

The puppy yipped delightedly and nuzzled Bill's neck as he held it against his chest.

Pam was taking little shallow breaths through her nose.

"Excuse me a minute," she said in a breathless whisper and hurried out of the room.

Ralph heard the bedroom door shut. He was watching Bill as the puppy licked his chin and wriggled around to start chewing on the collar of his denim shirt.

"She's ah- she's a little emotional," Bill said.

"That's a dame for you," Ralph answered.

"This is a good dog," Bill said after a moment. "I never had one, but I can tell this is a good one."

"He likes gingerbread," Ralph said. "But possibly only Pam's."

"Prob'ly a short jump from there to biscuits," Bill said.

The bedroom door opened.

"There was nothing wrong with the gingerbread," Pam said, striding into the room. She shoved a tissue into the pocket of her jeans and took a deep breath.

"Incidentally," she said. "They were calling him Scuffles at the ASPCA, but he doesn't seem to answer to anything but 'No, no, bad dog.'"

"I'll stick with Rufus," Bill said. "Hand me a biscuit, would'ya?"

Ralph picked up the box of biscuit and fished out a red one. Bill shifted Rufus to his other arm and took it. The puppy nuzzled it curiously for a moment then turned his head and started chewing industriously at the nobbly end.

"He's still a baby," Pam said. "He needs puppy food. I've got some in the other room."

She turned and walked toward the kitchen.

"Although he should still be full of gingerbread," she muttered.

"We thought it would be nice if we could get you something you'd want to keep," Ralph said as he watched Bill turn the biscuit so Rufus could fit the end between his teeth.

"Yeah, uh," Bill said and cleared his throat. "Ya know, I was thinkin'. In the car on the way over here. All that stuff was great and everything. Especially the train. I might keep the train, too. But all that stuff's not as good as-"

He took a deep breath.

"It's not as good as havin' folks who'd get it for you."

"You're welcome," Ralph said quietly, then he cleared his throat.

"Now, how about that Chinese?" he said. "You want your usual?"

Bill coughed and fed Rufus the last piece of biscuit.

"Yeah, Kung Po for me," Bill said. "And he'll have the Lemon Chicken."

"You're not giving that dog Chinese food," Pam called from the kitchen. "We have to sleep here tonight."

"And we both want Egg Drop Soup," Bill said. "No wontons."

Ralph nodded and moved to the desk.

"Wait a minute," Bill said. "Get him the Duck with Ginger. Rufus likes ginger."

"You're going to feed him from the table, aren't you?" Pam said from the doorway.

Bill nodded.

"More'n likely," he answered.

She heaved a sigh and went back toward the kitchen.

"We might as well call him Bill, Junior," she said. "He's going to be just as hard to live with."

"Nah, I'm still stickin' with Rufus," Bill said.

"Merry Christmas, Bill," Ralph said as he picked up the phone.

"Merry Christmas, Santa," Bill answered.

He leaned around to look into the dining room.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus," he called.

"Merry Christmas, Bill," she called back.

Bill lifted the puppy in his hands to look at it eye to eye.

"Merry Christmas, Rufus," he said.

"Yip!" Rufus answered and licked his nose.

- end -

The Christmas Scenarios

_Finé_


End file.
